Special Effects
by Irony'sFriend
Summary: Art only wanted to put an end to his losing streak by breaking up one little drug operation, but when his lack of a Minimum once again puts him at a disadvantage, he is forced to acknowledge his own weakness. Now he's facing trouble at work, a new series of complications in the case, and feelings for Nice all triggered by one unorthodox kiss.
1. Fancy Meeting You Here

**a/n: **This takes place before episode seven of the first season, so Art is still a police investigator, and Nice and Art are still happy friends who are just one step away from lovers.

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hamatora._

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**Special Effects**

Chapter One: Fancy Meeting You Here

Art parked his car with the security vehicles and kept one hand on his hidden gun as he allowed himself to blend in with the shadows of early night. Even out in the crowded parking lot, he could hear the music blaring through expensive, high-quality speakers, and screams of enchanted fans carried even further. According to the digital clock in his car and the advertisement he read on the internet, the show should have started about ten minutes ago.

An ideal time in which the goers of the concert would be focused on the singer and the security officers would be relaxing after just enduring the rush of patrons.

Law enforcement policy required policemen to work in pairs, but Gasuke went home at the end of his shift while Art remained at the office. He did not like to leave unsolved cases though that seemed to be the situation more and more often. Just this once, Art wanted to break his losing streak and accomplish something before going home to his apartment.

He scattered the police reports and pictures of a known drug gang across his desk. They had been tracking the illegal substance's movements for three weeks now, but they couldn't seem to find a solid enough pattern to predict where the next deal would take place in order to set up a trap to apprehend the perpetrators. So far, the location sites included parks, plazas, coliseums, and Yokohama's community college. If it wasn't for the last one, Art would have concluded that the drug deals chose music-related sites, but they staked out a few concerts, and nothing happened.

Just as day blended into night in a fiery sunset, Art made the connection. The drug deals did not follow musical acts or even a particular band but a single musical artist who guest-starred or gave opening acts for various events: Lisanna Star. After a few quick internet searches, Art discovered she was the last act for a talent medley on this very night at Toranker Hall.

Art grabbed his gun and his badge, and then he dived into his car to drive as fast he could to where he hoped a drug deal would soon unfold. He did not call for backup as police protocol required as this was just a hunch and not a proper investigation.

He momentarily thought of contacting Nice, but the kid got enough trouble as it was. He could handle this one on his own.

Toranker Hall was an outside stadium in a valley surrounded by lush green hills. The stage nestled itself in the lowest point, and the surrounding bleachers used the hills as natural elevation, and the whole set up provided good acoustics that didn't have to be manmade. A chain-link fence cut off the stadium from the parking lot at the peak of the hills.

As the occasional spotlights all pointed toward the crowd and stage, Art figured any suspicious activity would take place in the parking lot where there was an abundance of shadows and significant lack of security. Careful and cautious as always, Art crept in between rows and columns of cars in search of anything suspicious.

"-not now. We have to wait another hour."

"Why? No one's around. We can get this taken care of and be on our way…"

Art narrowed his eyes in a fierce expression, but inwardly, he grinned in satisfaction. His hunch proved correct after all. For whatever reason, this dealer only sold his drugs when Lisanna Star sang, and as the muttered conversation hinted, he wouldn't hand over his goods until the idol was on stage.

Art took out his gun and held it firmly in two hands. He crouched behind a white Cadillac, and when he chanced a glimpse through the window, he saw two figures mulling between a dark-colored van and a black sedan.

Art believed in the element of surprise, so after one deep breath, he stepped in view of the two men and held his gun out in front of him. "Put your hands where I can see them and don't move," he ordered.

"W-what the hell? Who are you?" The squeaky voice belonged to the smaller of the two men though he was still taller than Art. His baggy jeans and tee shirt hung off his body, but despite his careless appearance, he shook with anxiety, his eyes darting between Art and the dealer.

The dealer himself remained calm though frustration cracked through his composure. "Police," he hissed. "How did you figure it out?"

"Turn around and put your hands against the van," Art said. He made sure to keep his voice commanding and his movements steady. After years of being brushed off for his slight physique and feminine hair color, he knew he had to put up a strong front right at the beginning.

The dealer only smirked in response to Art's demand. His broad shoulders spoke of muscle training, but his black suit showed a sophistication Art hadn't initially suspected though he supposed he should have. The dealer had escaped detection from the police for a very long time.

"I know you. You're the superintendent, right? Everyone says you're just a decoration, a cute model to put on the promotion posters," he taunted.

Heat flushed Art's cheeks, but he forced his hands to hold the gun fiercely. Familiar humiliation curled in his stomach, and he was at least thankful he hadn't brought backup. Only he was a witness to his own shame.

"I am a police officer, and if you continue to resist, it will only add to your list of crimes and sentence," Art warned. "I won't hesitate to shoot if you provoke me."

"Is that so, pretty boy?" the dealer said. A grin stretching across his face, he brought his hands together above his head, and Art caught a flash of light reflect off something on his finger. "Not if I pull my trigger first."

The clink of metal resounded through the empty parking lot, and Art realized two things much too late. The dealer was a Minimum Holder, and when he touched the twin rings on his hands together, he triggered the power.

Art cursed his own ignorance because he should have considered such a possibility. Perhaps his subordinates and those who whispered in the streets were right. He was a decorative superintendent who couldn't do anything right. He failed to manifest a Minimum in the academy, and now he failed as a police investigator. He couldn't even bust a drug deal without everything going wrong.

His heart sunk long before the dealer's power truly took effect, but only when his gun trembled and flew into the hand of the bigger man did Art feel fear.

"It's the Metal Manipulation Minimum. I can use magnetism to attract any metal that I desire, and that includes your weapon, Mr. Superintendent," the dealer informed him with a sick grin. He twirled the police-issued gun around his finger and then grasped the weapon in an experienced hold, the barrel pointed at Art's chest. "Now what do you think is going to happen next?"

Art gritted his teeth. He went through all the options in his mind, but with the gun pointed to him and no one around, there was nothing he could do. Helplessness clouded his head and lugged through his veins.

"Just kill the little bitch and get this over with," the druggie cried. He wrung his hands together desperately, but the dealer glared at him.

"Subtlety is how you win this game, idiot. I'll shoot him if I have to, but I'd rather not alert the concert's security to what's going on here," he hissed. After his momentary show of anger, the dealer smiled at Art as if apologizing for his rudeness. He approached the police inspector with long strides, and Art tried not to flinch when the hand not holding the gun carded through his hair. "You have your handcuffs on you, don't you? Where are they?"

Though he could feel his heart speeding up, Art forced his breaths to remain slow and even. He did not have much at this point, but he did have some semblance of pride, and he would not show weakness to this man.

"If you don't tell me, I'll pat you down for them," he warned.

Art hated himself. He hated his own weakness. "Inside pocket of my jacket. On the left," he answered.

The dealer used his free hand to unbutton Art's coat and remove the handcuffs from inside. It occurred to Art that he could have used his Minimum to attract the metal bindings, but he chose to find them by hand instead. The realization made him feel nauseous.

"Now hold out your hands like a good little boy." His voice went cold, and when Art hesitated to submit, he pushed the barrel of the gun into Art's lilac hair. "Do it or you'll find metal in your brain."

Art tried to ignore how his hands shook, but he did not hold them out for the dealer to cuff. He was a police investigator, and he refused to fail in this way. He would die in service to his city, but he would not grovel before a drug dealer with too much power.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be," he growled.

Art expected a gunshot to soon follow, and he briefly hoped they would take away his broken and bloody body before Nice could see it. He wouldn't wish that pain upon his most valuable friend…

He refused to shut his eyes in the face of death, so he saw the moment when the dealer and druggie shifted from leering at him wickedly to whimpering on the ground in utter agony. His mouth parted in shock, Art's eyes landed on Nice, standing between the fallen men, his gun pinched between two fingers. He expected the younger boy to shoot him a grin or to jokingly chide him for getting himself mixed up in this kind of trouble, so Art was surprised to see an angry fire in the other's blue eyes.

"Nice…"

Nice finally met Art's gaze, and though his anger softened, he still didn't smile. "Are you okay, Art?"

Art nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"You shouldn't take on this kind of stuff without a partner, Art," Nice scolded. The unanswered question lingered between them.

"You're one to talk," Art said. "Where's Murasaki?"

Nice shrugged. "Home. Probably asleep."

Art turned away from his friend then and looked down to the man who nearly killed him. Who humiliated him and stroked his hair as if he owned him. Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth now, and judging by the angle of his arm, it was broken. He couldn't even save himself, but Art was still a police officer. The least he could do at this point was arrest him.

Art kneeled down to pry the handcuffs from the dealer's grip, but a sudden hand on his shoulder made him hesitate and look up. Nice stared down at him with concern.

"Let me do this. You go get a couple of security guards or call a patrol or something to get these guys out of here," he said.

Though Nice only wanted to help, Art felt the words wound him deeply. He really was a decoration then. A private investigator four years his junior didn't even expect him to do his job properly.

Without a word Art blended in with the shadows of the parking lot and retreated to his car squeezed between the security vehicles. He used his police radio to call the cars on patrol, and within fifteen minutes, he saw flashing blue and red lights.

Art quickly explained the situation to his colleagues in the briefest terms possible. He did not mention how he was nearly killed, but he didn't claim to capture the perpetrators either. However, at this point, they didn't ask too many questions as they would all file their reports in the morning. The dealer and druggie found themselves cuffed and in the back of the patrol cars, and Art couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when the cars disappeared down the road.

He would have to face his own actions in the morning, but he was happy to see them leave for now.

"Art, are you okay?"

Damn Nice. Damn him for being so caring. As easy as it was to imagine being alone in this dark parking lot, Nice stood beside him, both watching where the police car disappeared moments earlier.

"I'm fine." Art sighed. "Thank you… I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't showed up when you did."

"I was in the neighborhood," Nice dismissed. His attempt at a lighter tone evaporated when he added, "You shouldn't deal with Minimum Holders when you're alone. Even if the old man couldn't come, you could have called me."

"Well, it seems you were around anyway," Art pointed out.

"It was a job. A rival dealer came to Hamatora because all the druggies were going to this new guy. Apparently, he had some way of never getting caught, so he got pretty popular. You figured it out though," Nice congratulated.

The praise only rubbed salt in Art's raw wounds. Obviously, Nice figured out the pattern far quicker, and he didn't lose his only weapon to the opponent. Of course, Nice didn't have to worry about something like that when his power came from within himself.

"We still don't know why the dealer thought he could keep getting away without detection if he only did deals when that singer performed," Art said. The reminder was more for himself than Nice, a subtle way of keeping himself humble though he needed no help with that lately.

"Then let's go," Nice said.

"Go?" Art repeated.

Nice took Art's hand and forced the other to meet his eyes. While he still hadn't completely regained his carefree attitude, he no longer burned with fury. "We're at the concert. That Lisanna girl will sing in a few minutes. Maybe we can figure out what makes her performances so special," he suggested.

"You want us to go to the concert?" Art questioned. Just the thought seemed surreal after everything that had already happened tonight. He had only just discovered the connection between Lisanna Star and the drug deals a little over an hour ago, and now Nice was here as well, and he could still here the subtle beat of the bass now that the action had calmed down.

"For work," Nice added as if the two words would convince the police investigator.

After doing nothing but continuing his losing streak, Art felt he didn't have the right to turn Nice down. This case wasn't solved until they figured out why the dealer used this one idol as a cover up. Otherwise, someone else might try to use the same trick, and something like this might happen once again.

Art shivered at the thought.

No, he would prove that he was more than just a decoration. He would show his subordinates that he was worthy of his position. No matter what, he would solve this case.


	2. Lights, Music, Action!

**a/n: **A HUGE thank you to my RL friend, Taylor, who role-played this chapter with me before I wrote it and then acted as my beta. She was Art (I was Nice) and you can find her under the pen name Seiji and Shizuku ever. I highly recommend checking her out because she is amazing!

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Chapter Two: Lights, Music, Action!

As they strolled across the parking lot to the concert entrance, Nice stole glance after glance at Art. He knew his friend tended to be serious, especially when it came to his work, but his mood seemed even more solemn than usual. Nice supposed he could understand considering what they had just experienced.

Nice tried not to think of how his heart pounded and his blood boiled the moment he caught sight of Art with a gun pointed at his head. While Murasaki would probably scold him for being so reckless, Nice made his move without consciously making the decision. He took out the threat to his friend, and he did not regret it.

The only remorse he felt was in the sadness that draped over Art like a cloak when he returned his gun to him. If he was completely honest with himself, Nice would admit that he had an ulterior motive for inviting Art to the concert rather than just investigating the joint case. He wanted to take away that sadness even if he still felt the thrum of anger and distress from finding him in such a dangerous position in the first place.

They approached the ticket booth, but the clerk let them in without a fuss. Perhaps it was Art's telltale suit or all the police cars earlier, but they slipped past the barrier and lingered toward the back of the sitting area where few spectators chose to set up camp.

The hill of luscious green grass rolled down to the stage, and thousands of people cheered on blankets and in lawn chairs for the next performer. Nice suddenly realized that he didn't have anything for Art and him to sit on, so he took off his vest and laid it on the ground, smoothing it out to present optimum comfort.

"Here, we can't get your suit dirty," Nice offered, smiling up at Art.

The quiet man watched Nice and his antics, but his purple eyes slid in and out of focus. A few heartbeats passed before he seemed to blink out of his reverie, and his cheeks heated in shame at his distraction.

"If you're sure you don't mind," he finally replied. The answer told Nice more than Art would ever explain, for Art would normally refuse such a gesture.

However, Nice chose to ignore the sign for now and continue with his first plan. "Of course I don't mind!" Nice proclaimed as he plopped down on the grass next to his vest. His smile didn't last long though, and he found his expression quickly giving away to concern. "You seem distracted, Art."

Nice grew up with this boy. He knew him too well.

Art avoided his piercing blue eyes as he carefully seated himself on the vest. "I'm only trying to think of possible connections between this performer and the drug dealers," he responded. Nice had a feeling Art wasn't being entirely honest, but he didn't have time to linger on the possibility before Art was talking again. "What are your thoughts on it?"

Nice watched the police superintendent for a moment, but when he didn't reveal anything else, he turned his gaze to the stage. A punk group just finished, and some groupies were rewiring the stage for Lisanna Star. The crowd practically buzzed with anticipation. As Nice scratched idly at the bandage on his right cheek, he answered, "My client acted like that guy was untouchable. For some reason, when he deals during this girl's singing, no one pays attention to what's going on anywhere else."

Art listened closely and idly followed Nice's line of sight as his lilac eyes narrowed pensively. "I can only reach two possible explanations. Either this singer is in cohorts with that dealer, or she's so talented she attracts undivided attention." His brow suddenly creased as another possibility dawned on the investigator. "Or perhaps even both... she could have a hypnotizing minimum."

Nice's eyes widened in response to Art's theory, and an energy other than the excitement of the crowd stirred beneath his skin as a figure arrived on the stage. Her mini skirt twirling and her purple hair flying, she took up the microphone, and the crowd roared. "I guess we're about to find out," he said grimly.

The duo exchanged glances somewhat gravely, and as always, Art prepared for the worst-case scenario. "Put on your headphones so at least one of us can firsthand witness the effects of Lisanna Star's performance without getting bewitched," he rationalized, thinking quickly.

Nice nodded his confirmation, and he quickly grasped his headphones, but instead of sliding them over his own ears, he placed them atop Art's head. He carefully adjusted them, brushing his lilac tresses away from his eyes where they were disturbed. "Good idea," Nice congratulated. "But you should really be the one with the sound mind here."

A bewildered blink was Art's immediate response, the way Nice's fingertips brushed his skin causing him to both stiffen and relax. Though Nice expected him to protest, Art's dumbfounded and austere demeanor visibly softened. "Nice…" The police investigator began to say more, but the start of the performance drowned him out.

Having owned the headphones for years, Nice knew Art could only hear the pulsating beat at this point and nothing else. Now that he was sure Art was safe from whatever the music would induce, Nice turned his attention to the stage and the crowd. His muscles tensed under the pressure, and his eyes narrowed in determination. He waited for his mind to numb or his vision to blur or some other sign of something not entirely his own entering his head.

Lisanna chose a love song, and the lyrics carried over the crowd like a fine perfume. Nice didn't check out girls like Birthday did, but with the lights flashing around her dancing form and the backdrop displaying a variety of graphic design that changed with the music, he could see the attraction of the teenage idol. However, while the base pulsated through the speakers and her voice held an alluring quality, Nice didn't really feel captivated or hypnotized. He at least knew he could still take down a drug dealer.

Nice turned to Art to let him know the music was safe, but he hesitated. A soft smile graced his lips as he took in the sight of his friend in his headphones. Since he so often saw him overworked and tired, Nice liked watching Art in a more relaxed scene. He liked seeing a piece of himself on his friend even more.

Art kept his eyes trained on him carefully, and Nice knew the other watched him for any sign of a transition. As Art didn't flinch away or shriek in horror, Nice assumed he couldn't find any, and that made sense because he felt fine. But as Nice's smile grew, Art raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

"You know, you should work less," Nice scolded him suddenly. He had felt that way for a while, but he had always withheld his opinion since he knew Art wanted to prove his worth. Now, however, he desired nothing more than to hold onto this moment in which they were together without the ultimate threat of murder or dealers with guns. "You and I should be able to go to a concert or coffee shop or something without it being about work."

Nice knew Art obviously couldn't hear him due to the headphones, but he also knew the police investigator was adept at lip reading. A furrow creasing his brow at the abrupt confession, Art gave him a puzzled look. Art met his eyes, and Nice could practically read his thoughts: 'What does this have to do with anything..?'

Nice found Art's eyes beautiful and intriguing on an everyday basis, but now he felt himself melting into that intense gaze. He waited for an answer before recalling that Art wouldn't likely talk back until he felt it was safe enough to take the headphones off. "Oh, of course!" he exclaimed. "Let me fix that."

Nice used both hands to push the headphones back, so they fell against the nape of Art's neck as Nice normally wore them. He allowed his fingertips to brush against his soft hair and linger. "I don't think it's the music," Nice told him and smiled gently.

Art instinctively drew back, his hands raising to the headphones so he could put them back in place. However, he was not quick enough to prevent the flood of upbeat music from washing over him and igniting his senses, and he watched Nice with astonishment. "Nice…" But before he could speak on any of his obvious qualms, Art registered the sensation of Nice's fingers in his hair. Art stopped protesting and relaxed beneath his touch.

The show of submission was nearly Nice's undoing, and he leaned forward to drink in more of that intoxicating expression. His hands traveled around his neck and linked together to pull Art gently closer. The lights of the show reflected in Art's eyes, and Nice's lips parted. "Art..."

Those lavender eyes softened as the proximity between them increased, and he compliantly drew in closer at Nice's beckoning. Nice spoke Art's name several times a day, but this time it was different... enunciated in a way that made Art's breathing hitch, his heartbeat quicken.

Nice vaguely recalled that he should be investigating or paying attention or something, but all his responsibilities paled in the face of Art, so innocent and so open, before him. Nice brushed his lips against Art's, a gentle breath, and then delved deeper, driven by the affection he had felt for his friend for so long suddenly rearing inside him passionately.

Art hesitated at first, and maybe he felt the same nagging sensation Nice did earlier, but that dispersed as soon as a gentle, fervent pressure eased against his lips. The enriching sensation mesmerized him, leaving him yearning for more, so he returned the kiss, reciprocating the passionate vigor. As if his hands moved on their own, Art framed Nice's face in his palms.

As soon as Art touched him in turn, Nice felt fireworks go off in his mind, and he practically straddled Art's lap before he fully realized what he was doing. He was too caught up in the moment, too enraptured by the kiss, to even think of what exactly they were doing or what others might think or the investigation...

As the kiss deepened, Art matched the pace's passion in turn. Once the peak and climax of the song hit in a flurry of musical numbers and the singer's high note, their shared emotions reacted in kind. Art caressed Nice's cheek with one hand and cupped the small of his back with the other to help Nice ease into his lap whilst keeping his balance, but much too soon, the song slowly trailed off in a single soft note as it ended.

The crowd exploded into cheers as both the music and light show faded away. The catcalls and clapping slipped into Nice's mind and body like a cooling balm, and he immediately froze in Art's hold. Suddenly overly aware of his position on Art's lap, his hands entwined around his neck and his lips still touching his, Nice pulled back so he could see Art's expression.

While shock and disbelief showed clearly at first, Art regained his senses and composure, and registered his bearings all too acutely. "...Hurry and put these back on, before the next song begins," Art said, but his voice sounded more like an instinctual reaction. The police superinendent promptly retracted his hands to grasp the headphones and extend them toward Nice. His expression remained as placid and collected as ever, but Nice could see in his eyes that he was just as flustered as him… maybe more so.

A blush heated up Nice's cheeks, and he quickly put a solid foot of space between himself and Art. Even when he reached for the headphones, Nice couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes. "We should just go. I think we got what we needed," he muttered. Humiliation burned through him, but Nice still couldn't force himself to entirely hate what transpired. Even worse, he had a feeling that emotion in particular was the key to this entire case.

Even as he settled the headphones back in their place around his neck, Nice scratched at his bandage, his thoughts deep and dark.

Art glanced at him in surprise, then at last nodded in agreement, instantaneously rising to his feet. "You're right." Despite the unorthodox situation, the police officer still managed to sound cool and collected. He even made quick work of picking up Nice's vest and dusting it off before he held it out to him.

Nice rose to his feet, and he took the proffered vest and slipped it back on. As they walked out of Toranker Hall and into the parking lot, the guitars and drums began to play again, and in a panic, Nice turned to Art. "Your car is here, right? We should drive away before she starts singing again."

Art quickened his already-brisk pace and made a beeline to his patrol car. "Yes. This way," he instructed, unlocking his car and deftly slipping into the driver's seat. He promptly flipped on the police radio and turned the volume up so it would hopefully drown out the sound of the concert.

Nice jerked open the door of the police car, slid inside, and slammed it shut behind him. He sighed in relief when the droning voices of Art's coworkers flooded the vehicle, effectively blocking out Lisanna Star's Minimum. "We should probably investigate her further after the show," Nice said over the radio.

"I'll contact her manager afterwards and schedule an interrogation," Art responded, steering out of the parking lot. "You can be present for it, of course. Even if we can enter backstage with authorization, it's doubtful we'll be able to directly speak with her."

Nice nodded to Art's points, and he was secretly envious of how in control Art stayed even after what just happened between them. The sensation of Art's lips and hands on his skin wouldn't leave his mind, and Nice wondered if Art dealt with any of the same problems.

"Can you charge her for anything?" he asked suddenly. If Nice could focus on the case, he wasn't thinking about his best friend's soft hair or beauty mark or anything else. "If she isn't actually in league with the dealer, she isn't technically doing anything wrong... Just..." Nice hated himself for blushing, but he decided to leave the implications as they were.

"Legally speaking, I can't put her in custody for anything unless she is in fact the dealer's accomplice," Art relayed. For the first time since the song ended, Nice heard a slight waver in Art's voice, and he wondered if the other thought of what happened between them as well.

Art cleared his throat, and his grip on the wheel tightened, and Nice realized that was answer enough. However, just as Art did when it came to the Facultas Academy and his job as a police officer, he pushed all his emotions down and focused on the responsibility before him.

Nice muffled a sigh, for even if he did bring up the kiss, Art may brush it off in order to better keep his attention to the case. "I guess the interrogation will tell," he mumbled, one hand reaching to scratch at his cheek.

Art nodded noncommittally. "Shall I take you home, then, in the meantime? I'll keep you posted."

"If you don't mind," Nice replied. He pulled out his phone, suddenly realizing he hadn't checked it since he left home, and found two missed calls and four angry messages from Murasaki. He thought about replying, but he figured he would be home soon anyway, so he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Art pulled onto the drive that lead to his apartment, lapsing into a silence that would normally be companionable but was now awkward.

Nice hated that he would be the cause for such a tension between them. They had faced so much together and surpassed boundaries that most friendships would not have survived. Even when Nice dropped out of the academy and Art failed to manifest a Minimum, they still stuck together because they shared a bond mere abilities and differences couldn't touch.

He would give up everything before he would let that friendship go, so he felt sickening relief when Art pulled up to his and Murasaki's apartment. At least when they separated, the awkward air between them would not be so obvious.

Nice opened the door and climbed out, but he hesitated with his hand still on the door. "Good night, Art. Be sure to give me a call," he said. "Take care of yourself. Always bring a partner from now on, okay?"

Art glanced toward him without meeting his eyes, and Nice realized that he may not be the only one feeling humiliation. "Noted. Same to you, Nice. Goodnight. I'll call you when something comes up."

Nice averted his eyes, nodded, and shut the car door. As he walked to his apartment, he felt as if he had lost something, and the emptiness inside hurt worse than any battle wounds he had ever accumulated. He cursed this case and everything involved with it. Yet, no matter how much he hated himself for it, Nice couldn't help but think of the warmth and softness of Art's lips on his.


	3. Off Rhythm

**a/n: **Once again, a big thank you to Seiji and Shizuku 4ever for being my beta! And you guys, she role-plays Art on Twitter under the name Headlnspector, and she's amazing, and you guys should check her out.

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Chapter Three: Off Rhythm

Art woke up the next morning still wearing his crumpled suit and shoes. Judging by his position, he just barely made it to the edge of the bed last night before falling asleep. Art wondered if the exhaustion from so many late nights at work finally caught up to him or if his body simply succumbed to unconsciousness as a defense against the events of the concert.

He needed no time to remember everything that took place at Toranker Hall, for the case and every detail involved stayed at the forefront of his mind. Even as Art forced himself from his bed and stumbled into the kitchen to the coffeepot, he thought of the drug dealer currently in custody and what possible connections he could have to the pop singer, Lisanna Star.

Was it a conspiracy? Did she use her Singing Minimum to distract any nearby witnesses, so the dealer could make his exchanges in complete safety? Or was he simply an opportunist who took advantage of her ability?

Art grabbed a mug and set it on the counter. He placed a sugar cube inside for each new theory that flitted through his mind.

They went to that community college together and hatched the plan then. _Plop._

He split the money from the deals with her, so she'd keep covering for him. _Plop._

He found out about her Miniumum, so he's blackmailing her to help him. _Plop._

Her Minimum instilled lustful feelings in the listeners, so they didn't have the presence of mind to notice anything suspicious. _PLOP!_

Art's fingers slipped, and the sugar cubes he'd held in his hand to add one by one suddenly all fell in the ceramic cup. As he stared into the pile of geometric sugar, Art briefly considered taking a few out, so his drink would at least be half coffee, but then he decided to leave it. After last night and the days he had ahead, he deserved this much at least.

Art poured the steaming coffee into his cup, and the sugar melted and dissolved in a swirl. After a few stirs with a spoon, Art grasped the cup with both hands and leaned back against the counter.

Could he blame the entire ordeal at the concert on Lisanna's Minimum? Even if they didn't know the particulars of her ability, surely that was the answer. Any emotions or actions that took place that night did not have to influence anything afterward.

Nice realized that as well… right?

Art felt vaguely nauseous at the thought of discussing it with him. They had known each other for years, and Art once believed they had an untouchable bond, but now he wondered if that still applied after they snogged passionately on the ground in the flashing lights of stage effects.

He took a large drink of his coffee to chase that image away, and he blamed the warmth in his stomach on the high temperature liquid he just consumed. He needed an answer, something he could point his finger to and declare the solution. To get that, Art knew, he would have to talk to Lisanna and soon.

Art carried his coffee around as he searched for his phone. He found it on his bedside table, and he felt both relieved and disappointed to see he had no messages from Nice. Pushing those thoughts aside, Art performed a quick internet search for Lisanna Star's manager. Once he obtained a phone number from her blog, he called and requested an interview with Miss Star, and when this did not come easily, Art pulled his rank.

He scheduled an interview at Lisanna's home that afternoon and saved the address into his phone.

Art went to his messages to inform Nice of this, but the idea of talking to him so soon made him feel heavy and tired. Art put his empty cup and cell phone on his bedside table and went to go take a shower instead.

…

Art felt a little better once he washed and exchanged his dirty suit for a fresh one. He poured himself another cup of coffee, this time with a non-deadly amount of sugar, and finally worked up the courage to call Nice, sinking onto his bed for support.

He picked up after the third ring. "Art! How are you?"

Art looked down to his trembling coffee cup and noticed he had not yet put on shoes. Perhaps he did not feel as good as he had thought. "Hi, Nice. I'm fine, just a little tired. I contacted Lisanna's manager."

"Oh, that was quick. You're always so efficient."

"Yes, I try to be… I'm going to her home at three this afternoon. I'll pick you up if you still want to go."

"Of course I do! I'll be ready."

"That's great, Nice. I'll see you then."

"Okay, Art… Don't give yourself diabetes with your coffee this morning, all right?"

Art flashed back to his now almost empty sugar bowl, and he cursed his own tell, so obvious to Nice. He did fall back on sugar when he was stressed. "I'll see you later, Nice. Bye."

He cut the connection and plugged his phone in to charge. He debated over whether he should review his case notes before the interview or take a nap.

…

Art ended up going over the case notes repeatedly up until time to pick Nice up, but the unresolved questions only created more frustration inside him. Eventually, he could think of no more theories, and he packed the file away and went to his car.

When he pulled up to Nice and Murasaki's apartment, Nice already waited outside. Art unlocked his doors, and the other boy slid into the passenger seat.

"Good afternoon," Art greeted.

Nice shut the door and settled back in his seat. "Afternoon," he replied.

Art pulled onto the road.

Nice's reserved attitude did not escape Art's notice, and he knew Nice probably noted irregularities in his behavior as well. Normally, when they met up after some time, they easily fell back into the comfortable rhythm of their friendship. Now Art couldn't stop remembering the look in Nice's eyes as he'd straddled his hips. If Art didn't know better, he would suspect his air conditioner needed work because his car suddenly felt very hot.

Awkwardness bloomed between them and squeezed into every corner of the small space. What did they used to talk about before they kissed? Art's great intelligence gained him his position as police superintendent, yet he could not remember this simple concept.

"I hope Murasaki didn't mind you coming to help me," Art attempted and then internally cursed himself. Why would Murasaki care? He didn't know about their kiss. Did their kiss taboo their working together anyway?

At least Nice didn't seem to find complexity in the simple statement. "He found a minor job to handle by himself, and Hajime is at Nowhere. I'm free for the whole day."

"That's good."

"Hey, Art."

"Yes?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

Art hoped he didn't look as flustered as he felt. His fingers tightened and readjusted on the steering wheel. "Of course," he dismissed.

"It's just, you're not talking about the case. Whenever we do stuff like this, you tell me your theories on the case, and I tell you mine," Nice pointed out, scratching idly at his cheek.

"We did that last night," Art replied. He tried to make this car ride seem like any other when they collaborated on a case, but everything about the situation felt undeniably different.

Nice cut his eyes over to Art, but the elder kept his eyes trained on the road. "Yes," Nice agreed. "But if I know you, you've reviewed the case since then, and you probably have more thoughts on it now."

"Have you thought of any more hypotheses for the case?" Art asked.

Nice shrugged as he stared out the window. Art's GPS on his phone occasionally chimed as he drove deeper into a less funded part of the city. "I have an idea for how her Minimum works," Nice said.

Just as a bullet shattered glass, the last word broke the wall between them into messy shards. They couldn't look at each other with both their gazes trained on the road, but Art felt vulnerable to Nice's intelligence and skill.

"Nice… about what happened…" Art hesitated, but he couldn't do this halfway. They would never accomplish anything if they kept dancing around that one moment in their lives.

"Art, you don't have to stress yourself out over this," Nice interrupted. Though he couldn't see him as he navigated the tight rows of urban apartments, Art knew by the softness in Nice's voice that the other looked at him with gentle concern.

Sympathy Art didn't want or need.

"No," Art insisted. "We need to discuss this…" His voice trailed away as he pulled into the parking lot of a particularly downtrodden cluster of apartments. His phone chimed that they had reached their destination.

"Maybe after the interrogation," Nice suggested.

…

Lisanna Star answered the door in a sweatshirt and with her dark purple hair tied back in a messy knot. She smiled anxiously and stepped back to allow Nice and Art inside. "Make yourself at home on the sofa," she welcomed. "I'll go get tea."

As Lisanna disappeared through a doorway, Nice and Art exchanged confused looks. Given, Art knew little about pop idol lifestyles, but the arrest charges in the police record always painted a wild and rebellious picture. Lisanna's home and brief appearance didn't fit that stereotype at all.

The apartment itself was small and obviously cheap. It only took Art and Nice a few steps to travel from the doorway to the sofa, and Art guessed his bathroom might be bigger than her living room. The place smelled nice, and every surface looked tidy and clean, yet she owned no personal items or decorations. The only object in the room besides the sofa, coffee table, armchair, and lamp was a laptop charging in the chair.

Lisanna returned with a tray of tea and set it on the coffee table in front of them. "I have some honey if you don't take sugar," she offered.

"This is fine, thank you," Art assured her.

"You have a nice place," Nice complimented. "A lot cleaner than my room."

Lisanna laughed as she moved the laptop to the floor, so she could sit in the armchair across from them. Art was surprised by the sound of it: friendly and a little embarrassed.

"I know it's not much," Lisanna admitted. "But I got it for a good price. So you two are police officers." Now that she sat before them, Art noticed she didn't wear makeup, but she still looked pretty in a natural way.

"Yes, I'm Police Superintendent Art," Art said. He briefly flashed his identification card as procedure required.

Lisanna's jaw tensed, but she answered politely, "You can call me Lis."

"I'm Nice," Nice inserted. "I'm a private investigator. So is Lisanna Star your stage name?"

Lis blushed and crossed her legs. Her hands fidgeted in her lap. "Yes. My birth name is Lisanna Otonashi. Is Lisanna Star why you two are here?"

Art had conducted many investigations in his short careers, and he had thought he knew all the approaches people would take under suspicion. Some put on overly cheery acts as if sheer manic optimism could get them out of their situation. Others responded with aggression and came just short of open hostility toward the investigating officers. Many just melted into a puddle of anxiety and tears.

Lis did none of these things, yet she gave off small signs of all three. While she attempted to remain polite and pleasant, she put up a defensive wall between them that she only revealed through small tells of anxiety. Art thought she seemed more resigned than anything, and he wondered if perhaps she never wanted to be a part of this drug ring.

"Partly," Art admitted. "There have been recent drug deals happening in the city, and there have been connections to your appearances as Lisanna Star."

"Wait, drug deals?" For the first time since Art and Nice arrived at her apartment, Lis looked startled, and she was either a very good actress, or this was honest surprise.

"What did you think we came to talk to you about?" Nice asked. When Lis and Art stared at him, he shrugged. "I mean, she didn't seem surprised that the police wanted to meet with her, but if it wasn't about the drug deals, then why?"

Lis buried her face in her hands and muffled a groan. A few stray strands of purple hair fell to hide her face in a veil. "I thought you came because I'm not a real pop star," she sighed.

The words came out muffled since they had to fight through hands and hair to make it to Art's ears, but he heard them just the same, and he suddenly felt like this interrogation was veering way off track. "What do you mean?" he pushed.

"I hate singing. Lisanna Star is just a persona," Lis clarified. She raised her head to look them in the eyes, and after her momentary breakdown, she seemed more composed and sure of herself. "I'm not a singer, not really. I mean, I can sing, obviously, but that's not who I am. My website and all the advertising is just smoke and mirrors. Even the 'manager' you called is just a friend of mine from high school who helped me set everything up."

Art could feel all his theories crashing down around his head, but he refused to think everything had been a waste. Perhaps she created this persona in order to give a set up for the drug deals…?

"My parents kicked me out of the house as soon as I finished high school, and I didn't have the money for college. I stayed with friends for a while and worked odd jobs until I could eventually manage to pay the rent for this place, but it wasn't enough. My friend and I created Lisanna Star to help me get the funds I really need. He found shows where I could sing, and they'd pay me on a freelance basis," she explained.

Though Art quickly processed the new information, Nice was always faster. "Why do you need so much money that you would do something you hate just to earn it?" he said.

Now Art leaned forward in anticipation. His hypotheses about the whole case could come together if she needed the extra cash to support a drug ring or even a drug habit, but Lisanna's next words ruined all of that.

"Law school," she said.

"Law school?" Nice repeated.

Lis nodded, and there was not a trace of irony in her expression. "When my parents kicked me out of the house, it was a blessing. They put my sister and me through hell every day of our lives. I'm safe now, but she's not. They're very careful about evidence though, so even if I called the authorities on them, nothing would happen.

"But if I can become a lawyer, I'll ensure that my sister is legally taken away from that house. That's the only way I can save her in the position I'm in now. If I have to sing every weekend to do that, I will."

Nice looked too shell-shocked by the revelations to properly respond, so Art took over. As a police investigator, he saw many similar cases every week, but he had to admire this girl for her spirit. Most abuse victims crumpled beneath the pressure, and others turned violent. Though Lis sat in a bare matchbox apartment in a sweatshirt and messy hair, he could see she was a warrior.

Yes, Art recognized it now. The way she positioned her armchair strategically with the lamp and power outlet, he realized she probably sat at that chair with her laptop every night. Studying hard until she had the funds to properly go to school. Working to save her sister.

"You haven't done anything illegal," Art realized. "Your website may be exaggerations, but most celebrity profiles are. I'm sorry we bothered you."

"Really? I thought you came here for another reason though," Lis said. Though her practical side made her guard her emotions, Art could see hope peeking through. It warmed his heart that she did not yet completely separate herself from how she felt.

"I did," Art admitted. "But I no longer think it's relevant. You have my best wishes, Lis."

Lis beamed, and Art thought maybe it wasn't so bad that all his theories had been wrong. Well, at least all the drug-related ones.

"I do have one last question though. Your singing. You're very popular, and you seem to be making a lot of shows. How do you enchant so many people?" Art inquired carefully.

Lis didn't tense or blush as Art expected. She only shrugged and replied, "My friend told me I had a nice voice. I don't particularly like it, but he offered to set me up a few shows. It started at a small gig at the community college where he goes to school, but once that was a success, he found other places who would pay me to sing.

"He's too nice to me. He's majoring in lighting design, and I think he offers to be the electrical lighting technician for free at shows, so that they'll pay me to sing." She laughed fondly though the sound faded away to sadness, and Art could relate.

"So there's nothing special or mystic about your singing?" Nice asked in the most unsubtle way possible.

Art would have glared at him if his phone hadn't chosen that moment to ring. He excused himself and stepped outside, and he wondered if Nice would just bluntly ask her if she had a Minimum in his absence. That would be preferable in this situation.

However, soon all his previous thoughts faded away in the face of a much worse realization.

When Art returned, Nice immediately sharpened to high alert the moment he noticed how pale Art had become.

"Art, what's wrong?" he demanded. He rose to his feet in a gesture that showed he would fight anything to cause Art such distress. Unfortunately, Nice could do nothing to help him with this.

"I just got a call from my police chief," Art said. "He's asked me to come into his office to discuss last night's arrest. He wants to talk to me about my failure."


	4. Symmetry and Parallels

**a/n: **I might have slightly based Shou off Kazma from Summer Wars. Maybe it's the technology feel, but it just felt right to me. Forever thankful for Seiji and Shizuku 4ever for editing this for me!

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hamatora._

* * *

Chapter Four: Symmetry and Parallels

As they left Lisanna's apartment building and drove back into the main thread of the city, Nice wished he could say something that would make the stress lines around Art's mouth and eyes go away. Art often worried himself to death over his own responsibilities and downfalls, and Nice liked to think he helped alleviate some of the pressure in the past through small encouragements and bits of humor. Unfortunately he doubted such tiny gestures would make much of a difference now.

After all, part of this was Nice's fault.

Sure, Art joked about getting into trouble with his superiors when he let Nice investigate a crime scene, but those were just jokes. He still kept Hamatora well informed, and Nice tried to return the favor when he could.

However, yesterday's incident didn't quite rate with pointing out a link between a popular internet video and a series of suspects. Nice interfered with Art's arrest, and said arrest hadn't even followed the proper protocol that chained police officers.

Nice didn't know much about the police force, but he did know going solo on a big case and then receiving help from a civilian did not exactly merit gold stars. Still, Nice didn't regret his actions. If Art was in danger, he was going to help him, and that wouldn't change no matter what protocol stated.

"I'll drop you off at Nowhere. Is that fine?" Art said.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? For support?" Nice offered.

Art sighed heavily, and the small show of weakness only heightened Nice's protective instincts. "I don't think that would be a good idea," he said.

Nice nodded even though Art couldn't see him while he was driving. "Then just go straight to the police headquarters, and I can walk from there. I have some business to take care of in the city anyway."

"What sort of business? I can drop you off closer to where you need to go," Art said. Nice would have smiled if it didn't pain him so. Even when he faced trouble at work, Art still cared for others and their needs.

"Don't worry about it," Nice dismissed. "Besides, you probably shouldn't keep your boss waiting."

Art could not argue with that, and he quieted. Nice hated to see his friend so defeated, and he only hoped his business could do something to help with that.

…

Art walked into his police chief's office with a sense of doom, but he kept his head held high and refused to slump even when he wanted to make himself as small as possible. Mr. Nidai sat behind his desk in a comfortable plush chair, and while there was a simple chair for guests, the chief didn't offer it to Art, so he awkwardly stood beside it.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Art said. Perspiration dotted the back of his neck, but he hoped he looked as in control as always. It was difficult when he felt trapped within the small room with the door shut and his superior within such close proximity.

Mr. Nidai threaded his fingers together on the surface of his desk and leaned forward. "Yes, I believe you know why I called you here, Superintendent Art."

Art nodded, and he cursed himself for the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Even if his graduation from Facultas Academy helped him to get this good job at such a young age, only his own actions and determination could help him now. He needed to pull himself together.

"I made several mistakes in regard to the recent drug ring case, Sir. I put myself in a compromising position, and I nearly lost the perpetrator," Art stated.

"That's one way to put it," the police chief agreed. "Though to put it commonly, you really fucked up."

…

As Art quickly crossed the parking lot to enter the police headquarters building, Nice leisurely strolled in a different direction. He briefly thought of following Art inside to attempt to take all the blame, but he figured Art would get mad at him if he tried to pull something like that. Besides, he could probably help more on this little errand anyway.

While Art spoke with the chief outside Lisanna's apartment, Nice took the opportunity to do a bit of interrogating of his own. He asked about the friend she knew from high school and what he did at Yokohama community college. She seemed only too eager to talk about his lighting design classes and how he worked hard to get her gigs, so she could further add to her law school funds. Nice soon learned a name and location in the midst of the other information.

He found the community college campus with little trouble, and he only needed to follow the conveniently placed signs to locate the theatre building. Nice waltzed inside and darted into the tech room on the second floor.

"Shou Mifune."

The tech room mostly consisted of computers and sound equipment and two chairs though only one was currently occupied. Said occupant twisted his chair around and slid his headphones from his ears to his neck.

"Only light design students are supposed to be back here," he said. Shaggy dark hair hung in his eyes, and Nice guessed he was going through that classic emo stage. Unfortunately, his baby blue eyes prevented him from giving off a truly intimidating aura.

Nice shut the door behind him and plopped down on the vacant chair. "Just consider me a one day intern," he suggested. His eyes widened as he realized the entire wall in front of him was made of one-way glass. While anyone in the theatre would look up and see black glass, he and Shou had a perfect view of the stage.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Shou asked.

"My name's Nice, and I just came to ask you a few questions," Nice replied casually.

The college student turned back to his desk where countless controls, knobs, and switches waited for his guidance. The monitors glowed with diagrams and formulas that Nice deciphered easily enough, but he still admired the kid for operating so many systems so flawlessly. If Nice read everything correctly, Shou controlled the lights, sounds, and graphic display on the background green screen.

"Look, I have work to do, so…" Shou trailed off in a clear hint as he adjusted a few knobs and flipped a switch. Two pools of blue light appeared on stage.

"What kind of work are you doing?" Nice asked. He reached out to fiddle with a panel labelled with purple sticky notes, but Shou blocked his hand almost as a reflex.

The corner of his mouth twitched in irritation when he swiveled his chair back to his own station. "Please don't touch anything. The college is putting on a show tomorrow night, and I need to determine what settings each act will require," Shou replied. "Are those the questions you came here to ask?"

"No," Nice admitted. He swished his chair back and forth a few times before continuing, "Will Lisanna Star sing at the show tomorrow?"

Shou's hand froze on his mouse, and the pointer on the monitor became just as still. "What makes you think I would know something like that?"

"Don't bother with some cheesy act," Nice said through a yawn. He leaned back in his chair and scratched at the bandage on his cheek. "I know you're her 'manager' who's getting her all the shows, so she can pay for law school."

Shou froze in the face of the truth, and his movements became painfully slow. He pulled his hands into his lap and clenched them into fists. As he ducked his head forward, his hair fell over his eyes and made him look even more emo than usual. "Please just leave her alone, okay? She's just trying to pull her life together, and we'll stop putting up this act as soon as she can pay her tuition and books. We're pretty close already, so-"

"Hey, hey, no need for that!" Nice assured him. "You and Lis are doing fine! I only came to ask about your Minimum."

"My… what?" Shou slowly lifted his head, and his eyes glimmered with both hope and suspicion. He could look pretty innocent and vulnerable for a guy in a grey hoodie and black skinny jeans.

"Your Minimum. We thought it was Lisanna at first, but she just has a nice voice. _You_ are the one with the special power, right? My guess would be something to do with the green screen or the lights," Nice said. He kept his tone breezy and casual even as Shou tensed in his seat.

"How could you possibly know about…? I only told two people…" Shou muttered.

"So I did get it right!" Nice exclaimed. "That's a relief after I screwed up so much earlier in this case."

Shou glared at his obvious enthusiasm. "Who the hell are you? Why do you even care about us?"

Nice held up his hands innocently. "Hey, I already told you. I'm Nice, and I'm a private investigator. Some drug ring only operated at Lisanna Star concerts, and so we thought she was the Minimum Holder who used her talent to keep everyone distracted…"

"_What?_"

"But now I see that you're the Holder, and if my winning streak is still going strong, your roommate didn't come home last night." Nice grinned in response to Shou's shock. After the chaos and muddled emotions of the last twenty-four hours, it felt good to be back on his game.

"How could you possibly know-?" Shou cut himself off and shook his head firmly. "It doesn't even matter. Ichigo doesn't come home a lot of nights. He has several girlfriends, so I spend plenty of time alone in the dorm."

Nice nodded along to Shou's self-assurances, but he added, "I imagine it would be difficult to hide your Minimum from someone you share a room with constantly. That's one person. And as for Lis… you love her and trust her, right?"

A deep blush colored Shou's face and neck, and Nice figured he hit the nail on the head. "Don't be so embarrassed about it," Nice advised. "She likes you, too, and even if she's too focused on law school to do anything right now, she will probably date you someday."

"That's… not even relevant," Shou insisted though his glowing red cheeks spoke otherwise.

Nice made a noise of skepticism, and Shou forcefully cleared his throat. "But that's all beside the point. Why the hell would you think Lis had something to do with a drug ring?"

"Oh, that's simple. Your roommate doesn't actually have scores of girlfriends. He's been using your Minimum at Lisanna's gigs to keep everyone distracted while he deals drugs. You and Lis didn't know of course, but we didn't realize that until now. I never thought a case would be harder when the perpetrators didn't actually know what they were doing either," Nice mused.

"This is ridiculous!" Shou exclaimed. "Ichigo wouldn't…"

Nice stared at the kid thoughtfully as he struggled for some explanation. He did feel a bit sorry for him, for Nice had waltzed into his domain only to throw bomb after bomb on him. No wonder Shou struggled for a logical explanation now.

But it wasn't Nice's job to babysit some college student who was actually probably older than Nice. He came here to finish this case for Art, and that's what he was going to do… down to the very last detail.

"You shouldn't freak out over that part because the police will handle your roommate," Nice dismissed. "But as for you, how does your Minimum work?"

…

"Not only did you completely ignore all procedures before confronting a suspect or issuing an arrest, you didn't even bring backup! We have our officers work in partners for a reason, Art. You did not show proper behavior or decision-making skills, and that's something we take seriously in our line of work."

Art stood in the center of his superior's officer, and he did not once speak out against his accusations. He kept a straight face and bore every hateful work because he did deserve this after all.

"I have turned a blind eye to your dealings with Hamatora in the past, but this has gone on too far. They are not affiliated with the police force in any way, and so you shouldn't affiliate with them… at least not on a professional level."

However, even while Art knew he deserved this and understood that he had not been behaving professionally, he would never blame Nice. Never. He wouldn't depend on Nice, but if his friend was in danger, Art would make sure he knew.

He kept a straight face throughout the rest of the lecture, but Art kept two resolves. He would protect Nice, and he would become stronger in order to do so properly.

…

"You already guessed it," Shou grumbled. "I use the lights."

Nice's eyes brightened with interest, and he leaned forward in his chair. "Yeah?" he prompted eagerly before taking on a more somber tone. "I'd ask you to show me, but your Minimum really isn't fair for other people."

"What do you mean?" Shou asked. He regarded Nice warily as he subtly moved his chair a few inches away.

"You shouldn't mess with people's emotions," Nice chided lightly. "Besides, wouldn't you be a better friend if you let Lis handle this on her own?"

"What are you talking about? I'm helping her! I'm being a good friend by doing this for her," Shou insisted, his voice rising higher with each word.

Nice looked up at the ceiling as if he could read deep thoughts of philosophy on the tiles. Almost without realizing it, he scratched at his cheek and twisted the chair back and forth with small pushes from his feet. "Just the way I see it… You should believe that Lis can do this on her own. Sure, help her when she needs it, but you also should have faith in her to do what she needs to do through her own power…

"You do believe in her, right?" Nice stopped twirling in his chair and met Shou's eyes seriously.

"Of course I believe in her!" Shou exclaimed with an intensity that rivaled even all the other Minimum Holders Nice knew.

"Then trust her." Nice smiled warmly as if the simple order solved all their problems. "She can handle it."

Shou averted his eyes and stared hard at his monitor though the screen darkened long ago. "You can't tell me you've never wanted to help someone because they mean something to you."

Nice's mouth parted in mild surprise, but before he allowed his mind to wander too far down that path, he cleared his throat. "Anyway, your Minimum isn't fair to those around you. You shouldn't make people feel things like that for just anyone."

"What do you mean?" Shou asked.

"Making people love each other when they really don't. That sort of thing can wreck relationships, and some people only have the bonds they've built with others," Nice explained.

Shou shook his head slowly. "That's not what my Minimum does."

"What?"

After Nice bearing down on Shou for so long, their positions switched. Nice sat confused while Shou sat up straighter and replaced his flustered tone with one lecturing enough for a teacher.

"I am a light design major, so I have a good eye for graphic design and that sort of thing anyway. But when I put my sunglasses on and take a bite of chocolate, everything becomes much clearer. I can instantly see the exact intensities, positions, and colors of the light I should use, and I know which background and designs to put up on the green screen. At first I thought the sugar rush and different perspective through the dark lenses gave me a natural gift, but then I started to notice how my designs affected others."

Here, Shou paused and gave Nice such a thoughtful look that he wondered who was doing the interrogating after all.

"I don't create love in others though. I just intensify emotions that were already there. If someone felt intense love for someone under my influence, they already harbored affection in the first place."

…

Art walked out to his car with considerably less energy than he had when he entered the police headquarters. A lump still hung in his throat, but he managed to unlock his car and slide inside without showing a break in mask, and he considered that a win. As Art locked his car back and hesitated before starting the vehicle, he reminded himself that it could have been much worse.

He still had a job at least. Even if his chief threatened him otherwise if he ever pulled something like he did last night again.

Art didn't consider that much of a stipulation as he didn't plan to in the first place.

He just inserted the key into the ignition when his phone rang. Art never thought he would feel dread at seeing Nice's name on his Caller ID, and he quickly answered just to push that feeling away.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Art! Do you think we could meet up right now? I have some stuff to tell you."

"Actually, Nice… I'm not really up for something like that at the moment…"

"Oh. Right, of course, I understand. Are you okay, Art?"

"I still have a job, so everything turned out all right."

"I didn't ask about your job. I asked if you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay, Nice. I'm fine, but I have had a long day. Can I talk to you later?"

"Of course, Art. I'll call you tomorrow. I know a great place for waffles where we can meet."

"Okay, Nice. Bye."

"Bye."

Art rested his forehead against the steering wheel and sighed.


	5. Coffee Sweetened with Confession

**a/n: **I would like to give a huge thank you to Seiji and Shizuku 4ever for role-playing this chapter with me and being the best beta ever! And to everyone else who favorited, followed, reviewed, or just enjoyed the story.

This ended up being super fluffy, but after the agony this show put me through, I feel no guilt in ending my story like this.

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hamatora._

* * *

Chapter Five: Coffee Sweetened with Confession

Art parked his car outside the waffle house, and while he put a valiant effort into keeping his hands from shaking, he could do very little about the jitters swirling in his stomach and traveling through his blood veins. He knew that he and Nice needed to talk, but that didn't make the actual process any easier.

Normally, he would distract himself by throwing himself heart and mind into a case, but after the chief lectured him so harshly yesterday, he only had enough energy to make it home and take a nap. He never even made it to the bed, instead falling haphazardly on the couch to slip into unconsciousness. Considering he had not managed a full night's slumber for most of the drug ring case, he likely needed the extra rest.

Sleep fueled a sharp mind after all, and he would need that today when he confronted Nice. Art did not know what he would say, but they had no choice but to settle this rift between them.

Art spotted Nice almost immediately in a booth near the back of the restaurant where few others ventured. As he drew closer, he realized two coffees already waited at the table, and a small dish overflowing with sugar packets and creamers sat next to the cup that would be his.

Art slid into the opposite side of the booth and offered a weak smile to his friend. "Good morning, Nice."

Nice stopped scratching fervently at the bandage on his cheek and folded his hands on the table. His face broke into an unadulterated expression of joy as soon as Art sat down, and he greeted, "Good morning!"

Unfortunately, being friends with a genius meant never hiding anything for long, and Nice's lips soon dipped at the corners as he took in the small tells that revealed Art's stress. Art wondered what gave him away first – the bags beneath his eyes, the tension in his movements, or the likely pale hue of his skin?

"Are you okay, Art? I ordered you coffee." The teenager gestured proudly to Art's mug, the steam rising from the dark liquid, and the dish of compliments on the side.

Art nodded in lieu of an honest answer, but he managed a sincerely grateful smile at Nice's thoughtful gesture. "Coffee is certainly welcome. Thank you, Nice." He proceeded to peel back the lids on three mini containers of vanilla creamer and pour their contents into his coffee. The white liquid made pretty designs in the dark coffee, and he forced himself to rip his gaze from the sight to focus on Nice. "What is it you wished to discuss?"

Though Nice likely saw through his charade, he let the change of subject slide. His former enthusiasm faded into a more serious persona as he said, "Right... Yesterday, while you were in police headquarters, I visited Yokohama community college, and I met the guy that's been helping Lis pull off her charade. He's the Minimum Holder."

Art paused in stirring his coffee as the new information calculated itself in his mind. He had not considered the possibility, but now that Nice confirmed it, the scenario made sense. "Is that so? Was he the one in cohorts with the drug dealers, then?"

"Nope," Nice refuted. A huge smile lit up his whole face as he delivered the sentiment. He leaned across the table as if he could offer some of his own enthusiasm directly to his friend about how splendidly this case would end, especially after he had taken a certain fondness to both Lis and Shou.

"We talked through it, and the drug dealer was actually his roommate at the college. The dealer came out as a Minimum Holder when he kept attracting Shou's - Lis's friend I mean - computer stuff, and after a few months, Shou admitted to his own ability. They agreed to keep each other's secret, but drug dealer decided to take advantage. Neither Shou nor Lis had any idea about the whole thing."

Nice leaned back in his booth and crossed his arms, clearly pleased.

Art blinked, processing it all with attentive lilac eyes surveying the other. "...I see." He leaned back into his seat, Nice's smile finally eliciting one of his own. "I should have known you would get to the bottom of this. ...Thank you."

A small pout turned the tips of Nice's smile down, and he averted his eyes away from Art's gaze. As much as he worked to make Art smile a moment ago, he didn't seem to consider Art's compliment of his investigative skills a success. "You did just as much. I wouldn't have known to talk to Shou if you hadn't made the appointment with Lis. And you arrested the only drug dealer, so Yokohama is safe now because of you. The case was a success over all because we both contributed," Nice reminded him.

Art knew his surprise bled through his expression, so he glanced away and hoped Nice didn't see the small smile bless his lips. Relief washed over him to hear that Nice still regarded him with respect, for he wasn't sure he could handle the day Nice looked at him with the pity so many others offered him. After the nearly endless years in Facultas Academy with no progress in manifesting a Minimum, no one seemed to be able to acknowledge him without associating him with failure and sympathy… except Nice.

"Then I suppose we make a good team," Art said. He finally glanced up to show Nice his smile, and he suddenly felt more confident in his decision to disregard Chief Nidai's order to disassociate with Hamatora. Nice had helped him countless times in the past, and Art intended to return the favor.

Nice beamed to see Art show some of his old determination, but his smile faltered when his mind began to wander to other places. He hesitated a moment before adding, "We do make a good team. We solved the case, but there is something else... Shou's Minimum."

Any relief Art felt at the case finally reaching a resolution fled his mind as his stomach lurched. Even though his coffee likely cooled, he opened three sugar packets at once and dumped them into his coffee with shaky hands.

He knew they needed to discuss this and clear the air between them, but too many emotions clouded rational thinking in this case. He wanted nothing more than to lock the events of that night in a box under the label of Minimum Side Effects, but a small part of him… Art forcefully pushed his emotions down, and said, "…Right. Explain its effects in detail, if you would."

Though the teenager tended to be blunt even at inappropriate times, he now seemed unable to meet Art's eyes, so he explained the situation to his coffee cup. "Shou is a light design student. He worked the special effects during Lis's shows, and when he put on his sunglasses and took a bite of chocolate, he knew exactly how to shift the lights to make people... Well, their emotions intensified. Shou did it so that people enjoying Lis's singing would love her even more. The drug dealer took advantage of the increased emotions to operate his ring since people would be too distracted by their feelings to notice what he was doing. But for some people..." Nice blushed and allowed Art's intelligence to fill in the blanks.

Art's lavender eyes widened as the realization hit him hard, and a surge of shock coursed through his system. It… only intensified emotions, not fabricated them? That meant...

He fleetingly glanced at Nice before promptly lowering his gaze toward his creamy coffee, now perfectly doctored to his preference but no longer appetizing, unsure of what to say. "...I see," he finally managed, surprised at how collected his voice was when he felt anything but.

Nice nodded to his coffee cup, and though he waited for Art to say more, the police investigator held his tongue. "Yes, so I, uh, feel like I should apologize," Nice finally admitted. He glanced up and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"There's no need. You were swayed under the Minimum Holder's effects," Art dismissed immediately. He took a sip of coffee and tried to ignore the fact that it was cold. "If you go by those standards, then I should also apologize for getting my gun taken from me on account of the dealer's Magnetizing Minimum."

"Yeah, but..." Nice sighed, and the breath of air almost sounded painful. "Even if they were intensified, they were still there, and that's pretty much my fault... And how could you say that? You couldn't help that, and I would do the same thing a million times over!"

"Perhaps the desire was there, but the Minimum's influence had you act on that. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't. I know that to be true." Art was ready to absolve the issue, as there was an unfamiliar fluttering in his stomach and a quickening to his pulse that was akin to adrenaline. "There's truly no need to apologize."

"Art..." Nice's eyes widened, and he seemed almost hurt by Art's response. The police inspector didn't particularly understand why as Nice knew how analytical he tended to be. "Art, is that really all you have to say?"

Art's chest tightened as Nice probed deeper to where he didn't want to go. The Minimum provided an excuse to avoid any uncomfortable discussions, and he wished Nice could just go with that. "What do you want me to say, Nice?"

Nice's hesitation and evasive mannerisms seemed to fly out the window as he clenched his hands into fists and hit the table almost aggressively. His eyes burned in a way that Art only saw in battle, and he felt irrationally nervous at their close proximity.

"I don't know, Art. I just wish you didn't keep you emotions as reigned in as you do every other aspect of your life," Nice growled.

Art wanted nothing more than to break contact from that fierce gaze, but he never wavered when he interrogated the most violent of criminals, so he wouldn't back down now. Such a sentiment should have encouraged him, but Art only felt weaker. Nice was too smart and knew him too well, and Art was fully aware of how Nice could detect every detail that he tried to keep carefully hidden.

Slowly releasing a sigh, Art folded his hands together and made a valiant effort to keep calm and collected. All he wanted was to get out of this conversation with his friendship with Nice still intact, but he felt like any move he made would endanger such a goal.

"...Force of habit, I suppose. I'm sorry," he said. Art briefly rested his forehead against his clasped hands and heavily exhaled again, his eyes slipping shut. He spent so much of his time and energy doing everything he could to force his emotions down so he could focus on the job he needed to do. To finally admit to his feelings felt too out of character to even consider.

Though the moment felt like an eternity, barely any time passed before Art lifted his head from his fists to face his closest friend. "All right. I've harbored feelings for you that I was unaware of until that night. Is that what you want to hear, Nice?"

All the aggression and anger Nice displayed before instantly melted away into fretful guilt. His entire persona changed as he watched his friend finally show vulnerability he never allowed himself in the past. Now he could see that Art was just affected by this as him. Perhaps more so.

Art did have responsibilities that Nice could never even imagine after all. "I'm sorry, Art," Nice said. "I shouldn't have pushed you to say that. I just... You're my best friend, Art, and I... Really liked kissing you. I guess I was scared I was the only one who felt that way."

Art mustered a wan but genuine smile, Nice's words making his heart warm. "You weren't," he reassured, a deep intake of breath subsequently following his words.

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth in return. "That's good to know," Nice said.

Exhausted by the moment of high tensions, neither spoke for a moment as he smiled at the other. Art worried that such a confession would stop the world from turning, but in the wake of quite possibly the climax of their friendship, he only felt relief. Perhaps it took more energy to hold emotions inside that to just admit them, he mused.

Art took another sip of his coffee, and room temperature didn't taste quite so badly this time.

Art thought they reached all the conclusions they possibly could in one meeting, but Nice suddenly jumped in place as if another thought physically struck him.

"And I want you to know that I know you're capable of doing your job," Nice blurted out. Art's eyes widened, but before he could inquire about the sudden change of subject, the younger continued, "More than capable. I believe you can do anything all on your own, but I just... Want to be there if you ever need help."

Nice blushed at the unexpected outburst, and Art blinked. After a moment, his heart took on a note of fondness as the words touched him to his inner core.

"I just… I used to think that I needed to show you that I cared by helping you out, but now I realize that I just need to believe in you. And I do," Nice clarified.

Art didn't think he could handle any more of this, or his heart would burst with overstimulation. He always feared Nice looked down on him as an incompetent child, so to know that he believed in him was really all he needed.

"...I appreciate that, Nice. I've always appreciated your assistance. ...And I appreciate you, for caring. Thank you."

"Don't thank me for something like that," Nice whined. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced when he realized it was cold. "If anything, I should thank you."

"That isn't true. I'm only giving gratitude where it's due."

"When will you realize that you do far more and deserve twice the credit?" Nice chuckled.

"Nice..." For the first time, the hint of warmth crept across Art's cheeks and he promptly raises his cup of coffee back to his lips, averting his lightly shimmering eyes.

This time, Nice fully laughed, but the joyful sound died halfway in the process. "Now don't get the wrong idea!" he said. "I believe in you, but if you get yourself cornered by a drug dealer or something again, I'm going to be there to help you out. No matter what."

Art's smile softened his eyes. "I believe in that. And the feeling is mutual… They all are."


End file.
